


Pack Bonds

by sanva



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Minor Character Death, Most likely just a one shot, Ned Stark's POV, Off screen, but the muse is tempted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanva/pseuds/sanva
Summary: Where Ned could hear the screams and clash of swords and skin ahead of them, Catelyn could feel it mentally as she had spread her senses wider than he had ever seen them, searching for their eldest daughter.





	Pack Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Ned's POV.

The horse beneath him was breathing hard, the scent of its sweat filled his nostrils and the sheen of it caught his eye. Behind him his wife and mate clutched at his waist, pressed tight against him, her head buried against his back as she shuddered.

Where Ned could hear the screams and clash of swords and skin ahead of them, Catelyn could feel it mentally as she had spread her senses wider than he had ever seen them, searching for their eldest daughter. In the hours since Sansa’s kidnapping in the wee hours of the morning, after the harvest feast when all the lords, ladies, Guardians and Soothsayers alike had spent tasted food and drink before fumbling to bed in the safety of Winterfell’s walls, a traitor had struck. Sansa and Lord Wyman’s daughter Wylla, had been stolen. 

Both girls held the scent of a Soothsayer yet to awaken. Sansa’s status had been a point of pride within the family, and worry. It had been centuries since a Stark had awoken as a Soothsayer, most slept no matter the blood that ran through their veins. The Tully family, however, had a tendency to bear strong Soothsayer’s that awoke with the onset of puberty. It was that strength that had Ned’s father contract a bonding between one of his son’s and one of Lord Tully’s daughters. The contract hadn’t been guaranteed—they would still have to meet and be found compatible—but in the end it had worked out and, for all that Brandon had been compatible with Catelyn, Ned was found to be even more so. It was the only light he and Catelyn had found within the aftermath of Brandon's death and Lyanna's disappearance at the hand of the Targaryen prince.

Catelyn’s fingers tensed and he could almost feel the bite of them even with his boiled leather armor on as she stilled behind him and breath caught. “Jon,” she said, her voice lacking the bite it often had when she said his name.

Jon’s existence was the only shadow within their bond. Few mates could or did keep secrets from one another, but Ned kept one from her and it centered on the boy. It was a secret he had kept for far too long, he knew, and was something he’d been planning on rectifying soon as the boy was nearly of age.

When Ned had first held the boy he claimed as his bastard, he had thought to have Lord Reed take him and raise him in Greywater Watch. His Guardian half had quickly quashed that, however, his direwolf, Loracan, appearing at his side muzzle pressing forward to press against the newborn’s pale cheek. _Pack_. 

Jon had been pack from that moment forward, forcing Ned to ignore any option other than to take him home to Winterfell. It was good that fate had given him his mother’s coloring. After greeting the babe, his wolf had moved to settle on the floor near his sisters fading direwolf, Fauve. Between them a small, curled pale white ball of fur had pressed, Jon’s Ghost as it would come to be known once the boy could speak. Having awoken moments after birth, Ned had no choice by the law of the land but to take the child home or to another noble house even if he hadn’t chosen to claim him as the blood of House Stark.

Babes that awakened had difficult childhoods and often died prematurely. Jon had several close calls as an infant and another with pox when he was but a few name days old.

Ned caught his adopted son’s scent then and the wild, feral scent of it nearly drove him into a feral state of his own. “He’s gone wild,” he said, wishing he could spur the horse faster.

“Sansa and Wylla . . . one of them is awake,” Catelyn told him, lips pressed against his skin as they and those around them weaved their horses through the Wolfswood. She swallowed harshly, holding onto him even tighter. “It’s Sansa. I’m sure.”

A minute or two later they were within sight of the carnage. The group Jon had gone with during the search, several Stark guardsmen, were there. Two on the ground being tended, while another stood with young Wylla, sword in hand. About the area bodies littered the ground and blood flecked trees and other foliage. 

“My lord,” the guardsmen, Luca, that had been trailing after Jon since he was a boy met him at the edge of the clearing, speaking before Ned could even dismount. He was a unbound Soothsayer, his abilities weren’t very strong, but his presence and skill could pull Jon, Robb, or any other youngling from a focus spiral within minutes. “All but one of the men involved in the kidnapping have been killed,” he reported, voice grim. “Lord Bolton’s bastard is among the dead.”

Ned turned from where he had been surveying the scene and met the man’s grim gaze.

“Jon killed him,” Luca said quietly, eyes dancing towards the edge of the clearing. “Slashed open his gut with a sword after taking an arrow to his shoulder and then tore the bastard's throat out.”

Ned could see Ramsay Snow’s body, laying with its pale, lifeless eyes still open and staring up at the sky. Catelyn’s breathing had quickened behind him at the sight of the carnage before them. 

“Sansa?” she asked, even as her eyes, and Ned’s gaze, located her daughter yards away sitting at the base of a tree.

“Jon won’t let anyone near them.” Luca’s voice was soft. “Jakob is standing guard, but the closest he can get is about twenty feet before Jon becomes upset. It was about the same for myself.”

Ned stared at the sight of his daughter, just past thirteen, curled against Jon’s chest, face pressed against the skin of his neck and her red hair trailing down her back, hiding one of his arms from view. Jon’s chin was settled upon her head, arms tight around her. Sansa was wearing a nightrail, the skirt of it was torn and stained with dirt, her feet were bare, tucked up tight against Jon’s thighs.

Nearby Jon’s Ghost, still lean and young, but red eyes glowing fierce, stalked completely corporeal. On the far side of the pair was another direwolf, one Ned had never seen before, grey fur tinged with a dusting of red, sitting primly but eyeing her surroundings with certain fierceness.

“Ned,” his wife’s voice was taught, “they . . . they have a pre-bond.”

He glanced at his wife and let the breath leave his chest slowly before glancing back to the pair settled against the roots and trunk of a young Ironoak. “Aye,” he agreed, “it appears they do.” A pre-bond wouldn’t last long, but he knew that neither’s instincts wouldn’t allow a full mate bond to form until after Sansa flowered. They would be compelled to form a betrothal bond soon, an imprint that would connect them in most ways. Betrothal bonds were breakable, unlike a mate bond, but to break one was unheard of.

Catelyn drew close, her words hissing lowly into his ear. “I want the truth, when we’re home if you cannot tell me now.” The words were said soft enough that only a Guardian could have heard unless a man was within inches of them. He and Jon were the only ones in the close vicinity.

He let out the breath he had been holding, let his eyes slip shut for a long moment, and nodded. “I will tell it,” Ned told her honestly, “when we’re within our chamber's walls." The thick walls and water running between each room provided a great deal of isolation from prying ears. Winterfell's builders had designed it with the strong Guardian gifts of House Stark in mind to give a measure of privacy. "It is time that both Jon and you know,” he paused for a moment as he turned back towards the pair, “and Sansa as well.”

She stared at him, lips pursed and blue eyes narrowed. He could feel something taught loosen between them and after a moment she nodded. Alba, her osprey, had settled on her shoulder. As solid looking as she was, Catelyn bore no weight from the bird of prey. 

He turned back to stare at the young pair against the tree, he could sense that Jon was calming, slowly but steadily, down. The territorial fever that came with both a burgeoning bond and the feral rage the boy had slipped into was dissipating. Frowning, Ned identified the light tune that was being hummed—that Sansa was humming—as a lullaby his lady wife had sung to each of their children to ease them into a quiet sleep. With her abilities as a Soothsayer, it had never been difficult to do. Jon himself had only been graced it a few times directly, to Ned’s knowledge. The times the young Guardian had nearly faded as an infant.

While Lady Catelyn hadn’t been happy about his presence, Jon had still been pack by definition and feeling. Since he was also a unbonded, young Guardian, she had always treated him fairly and been kind, no matter that she had also always been clear that he was not her son.

“Father!” Robb’s voice carried over to him as a group of five horses drew close. 

His eldest was also a Guardian of high order and had likely heard the clash of blades and Jon’s distress alongside Sansa’s just as he had. Robb had awoken young as well, the night that Jon had nearly passed from the pox, his worry and sleeping Guardian awakened at his favored siblings distress and shuddering breaths. It had been odd, but not too unusual. Usually a member of the household of the opposite leaning would awaken when another was in distress, but Jon was an unusual Guardian.

But then Targaryen Guardian’s and Soothsayers had always been odd. Many of their line, especially in the past few generations, had failed to awaken and the few that did—Soothsayers usually—had never bonded only married. Maester Aemon was one such, never bonded, but still awake and serving among the Night’s Watch. Rhaegar, to Ned’s knowledge, had been the only one since his Grandfather to awaken. He had been the only one to bond in the last few generations. It was his death that had killed Lyanna more than childbed fever. A bond broken by death was difficult to recover from, even with a newborn upon ones breast.

“Robb,” Ned acknowledged his son, moving towards them as their horses slowed and his eldest jumped from the saddle and paced forward, his Grey Wind appearing near his side, pacing into the clearing. “Are any of your horses good to return to Winterfell? We need Maester Luwin and a cart for the wounded.”

Robb’s gaze had locked on Jon and Sansa, blue eyes taking stock of them and the bloodied chaos around them. His nostrils flared and brow furrowed as Ned said his name a second and then third time, finally gaining his heir’s attention.

“The horses . . .” Robb turned his gaze back to the horses, his men were still mounted, assessing. Ned had already done a scan of his own, but wanted to hear Robb’s thoughts before he called out orders of his own. The injured men weren’t in too critical of conditions, Ned could tell from their heartbeats and breathing that the wounds were relatively minor. It was Jon he was most concerned about, but the arrow appeared to be in a non-vital spot, fat and perhaps muscle, from what Ned could see. There was blood, but not much, and Ned wouldn’t risk its removal without Maester Luwin present, no matter that Jon was still not quite calm enough to allow anyone close. 

“Yes,” Robb said, “Willhem and Kyne’s horses should be fine.”

Just as Ned had already seen. He nodded and glanced over to the men. “Willhem, Kyne, head back to Winterfell and retrieve Maester Luwin and his apprentices. We will also need two carts for the wounded and another for the dead.” As much as Ned wanted to leave the bastard and his men to the elements and scavengers, they must be returned to House Bolton. “And make sure that Ser Rodrick and Vayon do not allow Lord Bolton to leave.” Loracan let loose a long, rumbling growl as he paced back to his side. “He has much to answer for.”

Bolton’s bastard son had joined his father at the Harvest feast to be presented as his new, at least temporary, heir. House Bolton occasionally bore Guardians, but rarely did any bond. Most that awoke died young and suspiciously or joined the Night’s Watch, only one had born the title of Lord since Aegon’s conquest. Roose Bolton, like his father, had always felt ‘asleep’ to Ned. His eldest, Dominic, prior to his death six moons ago, had awoken during his time being fostered in the Veil. He had died only moons after returning to his father’s house. The death had been suspicious, but Catelyn had sensed no lies when Roose was questioned on his involvement within their presence.

Ramsay Snow, however, had been another story completely. Roose had never let his bastard alone within Ned’s presence, but the boy felt wrong, sick. His Guardian half had immediately distrusted and disliked the pale eyed, fidgety y, especially when he’d spent the entire feast watching Sansa and several others avidly. Catelyn had even requested upon returning to their chambers that if at all possible they avoid allowing the young man to ever visit Winterfell again.

He had agreed, but it had been too late as the man had already put plans in motion that resulted in this horrible situation.

“Yes, milord,” Willhelm said softly and Kyne inclined his head before they turned their horses about, checked the sky and their surroundings, and then rode for home.

“Father . . .” Robb murmured and Ned turned to see his son was watching Jon and Sansa again.

Sansa had pulled a bit away from Jon and was inspecting the arrow sticking out near the top of his shoulder, fingers prodding gently. Ghost had paced back to them, ears quirking this way and that as he watched them as well.

Jon for his part was staring at her face, his uninjured arm settled at the small of her back.

“Are they . . .”

“Yes,” Ned said softly with a sharp nod.

Robb breathed in harshly and swallowed. “But—”

“We will discuss it later,” he interrupted the question that was sure to come. The world thought Jon and Sansa to be siblings, half siblings, perhaps, but siblings nonetheless.

Siblings didn’t bond. Couldn’t bond. Even Aegon the conqueror and his sister wives had bonded to others. Targaryen bastards were, in part, common throughout history because they wed in family for heirs but Guardian’s and Soothsayers also bonded outside the family. The Seven only recognized marriages when it came to legitimacy . . . bondings were secondary unless the pair also married.

The Old Gods, in comparison, viewed bonds and the children born from it as higher rank then marriages. In the North Guardians and Soothsayers didn’t marry if they were already bonded. Bonding was marriage in the eyes of the Old Gods.

Robb eyed him for a moment and then breathed out and nodded. “What do you wish me to do?”

**Author's Note:**

> My muse demanded I write this and I can't fit Sentinel and Guides into VB, so it got its own fic. I may one day add additional chapters to this one, but for now it is complete.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!!! <3  
> \---------------  
> This has been cross posted to my FF.net account: Falcon-Rider. It is the only other website this should be on.


End file.
